


because at christmas you tell the truth

by thebaddestwolf



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: Brad Claire Secret Santa, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Romance, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22009495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwolf/pseuds/thebaddestwolf
Summary: Tomorrow is the BA test kitchen staff’s annual Secret Santa exchange and, while Brad has a gift, it’s not for the person whose name he picked.or the time Brad bought Claire a really thoughtful gift but didn't want it to be a whole thing
Relationships: Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 14
Kudos: 105





	because at christmas you tell the truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [40millionyears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/40millionyears/gifts).



> a secret santa fic for my secret santa recipient: 40millionyears! I hope it's as fun to read as it was to write. <3
> 
> p.s. - posting this early bc it felt like it had to be posted during Christmas week... and also I have no self control
> 
> p.p.s. - some of what’s going on here is inspired by some classic sitcom holiday episodes, bc if the shoe fits…

Winter is Brad’s least-favorite season.

He’s always been a summer guy, happiest when he’s fishing, swimming, and soaking up some good old vitamin D. Ever since he was a kid, winter made him feel all cooped-up. Even when he does get out of the house, he still feels constrained by all the layers one has to put on to survive the elements in the Northeast.

But Christmas has always been his one exception to the rule. Because he kinda loves Christmas -- especially since he started working at Bon Appetit. It’s nice to be surrounded by people who, like himself, have a food-centric approach to the holidays. Because food brings people together -- whether it’s blood relatives or found family -- and that’s what Christmas, for him, has always been about.

***

Brad isn’t feeling very festive as he trudges into the office on a particularly cold day in mid-December. A frostbite warning had popped up on his phone before he left this morning, resulting in him putting on _all_ of the layers -- wool socks, boots, jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves.

Of course this meant that three minutes into his commute, when he and the other overdressed passengers were packed like sardines on the R train, he was sweating like a whore in church. And once he arrived in the test kitchen -- a room that never dips below a balmy 75 degrees -- he was practically peeling his outer layers off.

Some way to start the day, huh?

His mood will rebound quickly -- it always does -- but for now he’s stomping into the kitchen, ready to glare at anyone who asks him to taste a dessert or assemble an appliance or borrow his _very clearly labeled_ scale.

But all of that is forgotten as he passes the walk-in and sees that all of the kitchen stations are empty... except for the very last one. Claire sitting at her work bench, hunched over and concentrating hard. (And it’s purely a coincidence that Brad’s step instantly feels springier.)

He can tell she hasn’t registered that anyone else is here, and he can’t not take advantage of the opportunity. He puts a finger to his lips, like he’s shushing... himself... and creeps forward as quietly as he can. He would’ve pulled it off, too, if the leg of his pants hadn’t caught on the side of an open cardboard box, which just _had_ to be filled with jangly red and green ornaments.

The noise echoes through the empty room and Claire startles and spins around.

“Oh my god!” She gapes at him with wide eyes and a hand pressed to her chest. “Brad! You scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” he says, feeling kinda bad. “I mean, jeez, who leaves a box open like that, right in the middle of the floor?”

He glares at the box, like it’s all the box’s fault.

“ _I_ did.” Claire gives him a pointed stare before turning back around. “And it wasn’t in the middle of anything.”

“Oh.”

He shrugs and continues on, going to his usual place on the right side of her station. He rests his forearms on the worktop and takes in her latest project.

“Ohhh this is nice!” He trails a finger along the delicate string of popcorn and cranberries. “Going old school, Claire. I like it.”

She glances at him and half-smiles, like she still wants to be annoyed with him but can’t resist the compliment.

“Thanks,” she says, threading her needle through another cranberry. “Wanted it to be festive for tomorrow.”

He nods, watching her hands work. “And you can’t say no to a good craft, can you, Half Sour?”

Claire turns and looks up at him through her lashes, really smiling this time, and Brad feels like he won a prize.

“No,” she says. “I guess I can’t.”

Brad laughs and smacks his palms on the granite. “Have I got your number or what?”

“Uh-huh,” she says, focusing again on her work. “So, you gonna make yourself useful? I’ve already got another needle threaded.”

He tells her that he’s no good at stuff like this, that he’s too clumsy for fiddly crafts, that he doesn’t pay attention. He’s still grumbling as he pulls up a chair, picks up the second needle, and gets to work.

***

Brad’s not ready for tomorrow. Well, he is and he isn’t.

Tomorrow is the BA test kitchen staff’s annual Secret Santa exchange and, while Brad has a gift, it’s not for the person whose name he picked.

He’s been trying to find the right person to switch with him ever since Carla had them select names out of a bonafide Santa hat a couple weeks ago. Brad had pulled Andy, who was easy enough to buy for -- just slap a bow on a bucket of protein powder and he’d be happy. But Brad had already procured a Christmas present for the office exchange, and it was for someone else.

Claire, namely.

And yes, he knows he could just give it to her. They’re friends. Friends get each other gifts all the time.

The thing is, he doesn’t want it to seem like, well, a _thing_. Like he went out of his way to get it for her just because he knew it would make her happy. Which, okay, is exactly what he did. But she doesn’t need to know that.

All Claire needed to know was that he pulled her name out of the hat and got her a gift. And so Brad spent the next two weeks trying to shoe-horn his plan into reality.

***

Delany has Carla.

Carla won’t say who she has, so Brad assumes she has him.

Molly has Sohla, and says someone already traded with her and she isn’t going to do it again.

“Not that _she’s_ who you’re trying to trade for,” she tells Brad, giving him a knowing look that he doesn’t super care for.

Over the next couple weeks he tries his best to subtly ask around, but after checking with Dan, Gaby, Rick, Hunzi, and Priya he still comes up with nothing. He’s starting to wonder whether Claire is even participating this year when, on the day before the gift exchange, Morocco interrupts the garland-making session under the guise of needing Brad’s help in the walk-in.

“Need me to reach something for ya, bud?” Brad asks as the door shuts behind them.

“I heard you’ve been asking around about swapping your Secret Santa,” Chris says, ignoring the question. “I’ve got you covered.” He presses a slip of paper into Brad’s hand. “You have Andy, right?”

“Yeah...” Brad says, brow furrowing as Chris walks past him to leave the freezer. “Woah, hold up a second -- who do you have?”

Chris is already halfway out the door, but he pauses to look back at him.

“Read the paper.”

Brad unfolds the slip in his hand. “Oh.”

“That’s who you wanted right?”

Brad shrugs, making what he hopes passes for a non-committal face.

Chris shakes his head, eyes briefly rolling toward the ceiling. “Told you, man. I’ve got you.”

“Hah, well I mean, it’s just that--” Brad stammers, gesturing around him like a good cover story is hovering somewhere nearby, he just has to grab it. He’s relieved when Chris holds up a hand to stop him.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Protein powder is on sale at Costco, anyway.”

And Brad wouldn’t exactly bet his life on it, but he’s still pretty damn sure Morocco winks at him as he walks back into the kitchen.

***

The weather was much warmer when Brad decided what to get Claire for Christmas. They were heading back to the office after a late lunch at Scarr’s, taking the long way back so they could mostly stay in the shade since Claire would apparently “burn to a crisp” from just the briefest exposure to UV rays.

If it was anyone else Brad would complain, argue for a compromise that at least got him some precious sunlight, but since it was Claire he let her choose the route. They wound up going past some dusty old antique store that they’d passed a thousand times, but this time something in the window caught Claire’s eye. She stopped and practically pressed her nose up against the glass.

“See that?” she asked, reaching out to grab Brad’s arm. “The gold one in the middle? My grandma had one just like it.”

A sign in the window noted that the store only opened by appointment, so Claire settled on taking a photo through the glass. Then they headed back to work.

***

They stop making garland when Claire has to go to a couple of meetings upstairs, which works out because Brad subsequently remembers that he actually has work he needs to do today. It takes a while to refocus but eventually he gets down to business, testing out a new fish stock and checking on a few things that he has going in the dehydrator.

It’s good to keep busy, because it takes his mind off of the fact that he’s actually going to get to give his gift to Claire tomorrow. He feels kinda dumb because, of course, that was always his goal -- to give her the gift that he bought for her -- but until Morocco switched names with him he had an emergency escape plan. There was an excuse, ready and waiting for him, if he needed it.

Now, if he doesn’t give Claire the present, he’ll have no one to blame but his own chicken-shit self.

***

It’s just as cold out the next morning, but Brad’s not about to let Mother Nature and the New York City Transit Authority conspire against him two days in a row. He wears fewer layers, which makes for a chilly jog to the subway, sure, but at least he doesn’t feel like clouds are forming in his pants by the time he gets off the train.

All in all, things are off to a good start.

Both of Claire’s presents are stowed safely in his backpack -- one being the main gift, and the other being something he picked up at a boutique last night because it made him think of her. He took his time wrapping them, and while he still doesn’t get how Claire can find wrapping presents _relaxing_ he thinks he did a pretty good job.

(He wants to show them to her to ask what she thinks, but remembers he can’t.)

The test kitchen is bustling today, and while most of the stoves and ovens are in use hardly any of it is for work; everyone is cooking up their favorite holiday dishes for the party.

Claire must’ve come in early, because she’s taking her sesame seed challah bread out of the oven when Brad walks in. Naturally he makes a bee-line for it/her.

“Mmm!” He fans his hand over the steaming bread, wafting more of the scent toward himself and breathing deeply. “That smells _amazing_ , Claire.”

“Thank you,” she says, beaming at him before playfully batting his hand away. “But you’ve got to wait -- it has to cool. And it’s for the party.”

“Fiiine.”

Brad pouts and Claire rolls her eyes -- a familiar routine that ends with them both smiling at each other.

“So what’s on deck?” Brad asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well it’s,” he checks his watch, “9:48 a.m. and you’ve already made a frickin’ loaf of bread. Figured an overachiever like you is working her way through a tasting menu for later.”

Claire laughs and shakes her head “No, not this time.”

“So then what’s the rush? Last I checked bread doesn’t need five hours to cool. Wait, you’re not doing actual work today are you? Making the rest of us look bad...”

“No, no!” Claire giggles and touches his arm to stop him mid-rant. “I wanted to set aside enough time to finish decorating the kitchen. Wanted it to feel extra festive this year.”

“Oh,” he says, gaze falling to where she’d touched him.

“Actually…” Claire leans back against her worktop, angling her hips toward him, and Brad knows he’s going to agree to whatever she’s about to ask. “Can I enlist your help?”

***

Brad was supposed to help Delany prepare the trimmings for his custom holiday party cocktails, but he doesn’t seem to mind when Brad tells him he’s double booked. With that settled, Brad digs a ladder out of a storage closet and follows Claire around the kitchen, working together to hang two kinds of garland (fresh balsam fir and the popcorn/cranberry) and strings of white Christmas lights.

“Is this even?” Claire asks from her perch on the ladder, where they’re hanging the last stretch of cranberry and popcorn along the windows.

Brad leans away from the window as much as he can without moving his hand that’s holding the other piece of the string. They’ve been doing this for an hour, but it still makes him smile that Claire has to be three rungs up on a ladder to reach his same height.

“Yeah…” He tilts his head, tracking the slope of the garland from his hand to hers. “Pretty even.”

Claire narrows her eyes at him (which is exactly what he wanted). “That doesn’t sound too convincing.”

“Welp all I know is it looks good to me.’ Brad huffs and puts his free hand up in his best “what do you want from me?” position. “But I can go grab a level if you want. Or I can run down to the construction site across the street and get a surveyor’s tripod. I’m sure they’ll let me borrow it if I tell them about the importance of having a straight garland.”

“A surveyor’s what?”

“A surveyor’s tripod, Claire! Ya know, that thing they use on job sites to tell if the ground is level.”

Claire laughs and shakes her head. “Good to know we still have completely different frames of reference.”

He grins and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “So, should I get it?”

“Oh my god, Brad. Just hand me the tape.”

***

Once everything is hung up they return the ladder to the closet and rummage around until they find the beat-up box containing the ancient office Christmas tree. The kitchen is busier than ever with the party fast-approaching, so Brad assembles the tree in the hallway while Claire goes to get the box of ornaments.

Brad hums to himself as he puts the tree together, snapping the crooked boughs in place and determinedly not thinking about the gifts sitting in his backpack. Luckily Claire returns quickly, groaning as she drags the rattling box behind her.

“Ahh my old, noisy friend,” Brad says, taking the box from her and carrying it the rest of the way. “Jeez, what do you have in this, Claire? Bunch of bricks?”

“No, no,” she giggles. “But I did supplement the stash of office ornaments with some I brought from home. I made my parents get a tree once when I was in second grade, mainly because I wanted to decorate it. My mom got sick of tripping over the boxes in the basement so I took my favorites before she donated the rest.”

Something about the anecdote makes Brad feel all warm inside and he laughs a little too loudly.

“Well that’s the most Claire thing I’ve ever heard.”

He kneels on the floor and opens the box, mostly to distract himself. Thankfully distraction tactics have always come easily to him, and Brad grins as he takes in the layer of Saffitz family ornaments on the top of the pile. There are multicolor bulbs and a ceramic Christmas Snoopy and a sparkly Star of David. He’s about to tell her that Young Claire had good taste when he notices something half-buried in the corner.

Brad’s eyes light up as he gently unearths the ornament and holds it up in front of them. It’s the kind of decoration you would make in school -- painted wooden sticks (the kind that look like tongue depressors) glued together in the shape of a star. And there, taped in the center, is a faded photo of 8-year-old Claire, grinning at the camera and showing off a missing front tooth.

“Claire…” Brad starts, at a loss for words for once.

“Oh.” Claire blushes and kneels beside him. “That wasn’t supposed to be in there.”

“This is _adorable_ Claire.”

“No, it’s embarrassing. Here, I’ll put it away.”

She tries to take it from him but Brad’s faster, holding the craft up over his head. She could grab it if she really wanted too -- all she has to do is stand and it’s hers -- but Claire just laughs and reaches for it from her place on the floor, resting one hand on his knee for leverage.

“I don’t think so,” he says, leaning back to keep it away from her. “This is what they call a tree-topper, Claire. Everyone’s got to see this.”

Claire whines and pouts, and Brad’s pretty sure her eyes are shining but he can’t be certain, because he’s suddenly aware of how close her lips are. Her hand is hot on his thigh and she’s practically pressing into him while he holds the ornament above them like frickin’ mistletoe. And, honestly, it’s a shame that it isn’t since this must be the kind of moment that mistletoe is made for.

Because, yes, fine, Brad’s wanted to kiss Claire a thousand times before, but never as much as he does right now, sitting on the cold tiled floor beneath an ornament she made in 1993.

But that’s not the problem. He can live with not kissing her -- he’s done so for years, in fact. No, the problem is that this time she’s well within kissing distance. And she’s not moving away.

A long beat passes -- too long for either of them to play it off like this was just part of the game, some of the casual teasing and flirting that they do every day. Brad drags his gaze up to Claire’s eyes to try to get a read on what she’s thinking, but that turns out to be a huge mistake because she’s staring at his mouth.

He can practically hear his heartbeat for how fast it’s going. Brad lowers the ornament to the floor, both to steady himself and to give her an out, but it doesn’t work on either count. He leaves it there, beside the box, and brings his hand up to toy with the apron string at her waist.

“Clai--”

Brad’s cut off when a crash startles them both. Claire gasps and loses her balance, nearly toppling sideways before Brad catches her. He lets her go as soon as she’s steady and they both gape in the direction of the noise.

The stupid fake tree has fallen over. Onto the stupid box of ornaments.

“Oh no!” Claire says, hopping up to check that nothing has been broken.

Brad stands slowly, silently cursing the box for ruining the moment once again, and rights the tree. He feels kinda dazed from the sharp turn of events so he trains his attention to the base of the tree, tightening the screws to make sure there won’t be any more mishaps. By the time Claire announces nothing has been irreparably damaged -- she just might have to get out the old hot glue gun -- things almost feel back to normal.

Almost.

***

When it’s time for the party to start, the test kitchen actually feels pretty swanky. Gaby has turned the overhead lights down and plugged Claire’s Christmas lights in, and Chris is queueing up a curated holiday mix to play through Andy’s bluetooth speakers. Everyone has changed into their party outfits and they look pretty damn good for a bunch of misfit chefs.

Brad doesn’t have a ton of what most people call “nice clothes” but he tried to make an effort. He’s in his nicest Vans, dark-wash jeans, and a red and black checkered shirt that he actually ironed. He also trimmed his scruff and bought a new black beanie and dabbed himself with a hint of cologne, so yeah, he’s kinda feeling himself as he sips one of Delany’s cranberry mules.

Then Claire walks in.

She’s wearing a forest green velvet dress that falls just below her knees paired with black lace-up Doc Martens, which look classy enough for a party but could pass for combat boots in a pinch. It’s all just so very _Claire_ and she looks so beautiful, with rosy cheeks and sparkly earrings, that it takes Brad’s breath away for a second.

He’s already taken a step in her direction when the girls of the test kitchen surround her, oohing and ahhing over her dress. But it’s for the best, Brad thinks, because her presents are sitting beneath the now-decorated tree at the far end of the kitchen and he needs to keep his wits about him.

The next hour or so passes happily enough. He starts to calm down halfway through his second cocktail and even makes himself a plate heaping with his coworkers’ holiday dishes. The room grows loud with laugher and fervently expressed opinions, and Brad’s struck by how grateful he is to have found a family in this group of food nerds.

And he’s not the only one feeling the love. Everyone’s acting very chummy, and it’s not long before Delany has to open a second handle of Tito’s, which he announces with pride to the room, receiving a cheer in response. A few minutes later Carla climbs onto a stool to inform everyone that the Secret Santa exchange will be starting soon.

“We’re doing things a little differently this year, alright?” she says. “Grab the gifts you bought and we’ll all form a circle and go around one by one. That way we can see what everyone else gets. And if you don’t like it, you can blame Molly because this was her idea.”

“And you can deliver any complaints right here!” Molly shouts, holding up a trash can and scoring the biggest laugh of the night.

Panic settles around Brad as he goes to get his two small presents from under the tree. In past years gifts were handed out at the givers’ discretion over the course of the evening. He was counting on being able to pull Claire aside so he could explain what it was, in case she’d forgotten seeing it in the shop window. The thought of giving her something this personal in front of their coworkers was certainly up toward the top of his Worst Nightmares list.

He pours himself a vodka soda before finding a spot in the circle, a few people down from Claire.

The gift exchange starts off innocuously enough. They go around the circle. Rick’s gift for Morocco is spoon themed -- spoon socks, a spoon t-shirt, and a blacksmith-forged serving spoon (which Brad would love to get his hands on). Delany gives Carla a fancy pasta attachment for her home stand mixer and Sohla gives Gaby a gift card to her favorite restaurant in Brooklyn, along with a note that she got her a reservation for New Year’s Eve.

When it’s Carla’s turn Brad’s calmed down enough to be excited to see what she got him, but he’s surprised when she hands a gift bag to Molly. He doesn’t pay attention to what it is -- something from their trip to Italy, maybe -- because Claire’s up next and then his turn will be coming up fast.

It’s safe to say he’s completely caught off guard when Claire picks up the neatly wrapped box in front of her and walks it over to him.

“Um,” she starts, looking down and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I have you, Brad.”

“Oh,” he says, laughing awkwardly. “No way.”

Somewhere to his left someone giggles and is promptly shushed, but Brad barely notices. For once all of his attention is on one thing, and that is carefully opening Claire’s meticulous wrapping job.

“Brad, what are you--?” she asks, giving him that exasperated look reserved only for him. “Just _rip it_.”

He sighs but does what she wants, tearing the paper to get at the contents more quickly. Inside is a rectangular white box. And inside the box is a brown leather-bound notebook with “BRAD’S PROJECTS” stamped on the front.

“I actually did that,” Claire says before he can react, trailing her finger over the embossed letters. “Took a class and everything.”

“Wow… Claire.” Brad grins so widely his cheeks hurt. “This is amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it.” She smiles up at him before looking away, blushing. “Plus, it was driving me nuts to see your project notes all loose.”

“Well, I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Merry Christmas,” she says, briefly squeezing his wrist before moving back to her spot.

Brad’s so touched by the gesture -- that she actually went to a class to make a gift for him -- that he hardly pays attention to the next few exchanges (aside from noting that Morocco gives Andy a pack of white t-shirts in addition to the Costco-sized container of protein powder).

A few minutes later when it’s his turn -- the moment he’s been anticipating for months -- he drains his drink and slips the smaller of his two gifts into his pocket.

“So uh, I actually have you, Claire,” he says, walking up to her with the single present in his hand. “It ain’t as thoughtful as what you got me, but I hope you like it.”

There are definitely more whispers around the circle this time, and Brad thinks he sees Carla elbow Molly in the ribs.

“Very nice wrapping job, Brad,” Claire says as she unties the ribbon.

“Thank you!” Brad stands up a bit straighter at that. “I did it myself. Had to watch a couple YouTube tutorials about making the bow, but I figured it out.”

“What, no way. I’m impressed.”

She shoots him a smile before removing the paper and opening the box inside.

“Oh my god they’re so adorable,” she says, holding up the earrings he bought her just last night -- a dangly pair of pink frosted donuts painted on delicate rounds of wood.

Brad shrugs. “Saw them and thought of you. Made sure to get you the ones with sprinkles.”

“Aww, Brad.” She’s looking up at him, half smiling and half pouting, and Brad’s glad he decided to pocket her real gift because her gratitude for this little thing is almost too much to bear.

“Even though sprinkles are, objectively, disgusting.” He claps and looks around, getting a few mild chuckles in response.

“Ugh, whatever Brad,” she says, holding up her hand to stop his obnoxiousness. “But also, thank you. I can’t wait to wear them.”

He smiles at her and can’t help his voice from going soft, like it does sometimes when it’s just the two of them at her station. “You’re welcome, Claire.”

***

After all the gifts are doled out the party continues on with increasing raucousness. Only when the nighttime cleaning crew arrives does it dawn on the gang that they should probably move the festivities to another location.

Andy, who lives the closest, has prepared for such an occasion, and soon they’re piling into a few Uber XLs and riding the short distance to Tribeca. The weather has warmed up significantly since this morning, so after collecting booze, cups, and a few other essentials from Andy’s apartment, they put their jackets back on and troop up the rickety stairs leading to the roof.

Brad’s been up here once before and it’s nothing special -- just a tarmac floor and four waist-high concrete walls -- but he’s glad that this is where they wound up. Because Claire’s other present -- her _real_ present -- is burning a hole in his pocket and he needs room to think.

He’s not a math guy, but he’s trying to crunch some numbers. Her birthday is 9 months away. Next Christmas is a year away. Valentine’s Day is… out of the question, based on the heart palpitations he gets when that thought enters his head.

So yeah, he’s pretty much in a now-or-never situation.

 _Shit_.

***

Even though Claire is the source of Brad’s current predicament, he still can’t stay away from her. He finds her by the makeshift drinks station -- a red beach cooler acting as a table, piled high with booze, Solo cups, a cutting board, a paring knife, and 2.5 limes.

“Hey Brad!” Claire says when she sees him approaching. “I’m making drinks -- what can I get you?”

“I’ll let you pick. Surprise me.”

She grins and gets to work making him something that seems to have a heavy proportion of whisky. She’s wearing a long black puffy coat, but she’s left it unzipped and her green dress is peeking through.

“Jeez, Claire, you must be freezing,” Brad says when he notices her bare legs.

“Hm? Oh, nah I’m fine. This weather is practically balmy in St. Louis winter terms.”

“Oh.” Brad nods and shifts on his feet. “Good. That’s good. Wouldn’t want you to get frostbite or something.”

“Here.” Claire hands him a red cup that’s practically filled to the brim. “Try this.”

He takes a sip, grateful to be fortified with some liquid courage… not that he knows what he’s going to do. He doesn’t particularly care what it tastes like, so long as there’s alcohol, but it tastes pretty damn good.

“Oh that’s niiice, Claire,” he tells her, smacking his lips together.

Her face lights up from the praise. “Yeah?”

“Ohhh yeah. If this whole pastry chef thing doesn’t work out, you could definitely find work as a bartender.”

Claire throws her head back to laugh and the sight warms Brad just as much as the alcohol in his system. He finds himself wondering what would’ve happened earlier if that damn fake tree hadn’t fallen over.

“Hey Claire,” he says, after taking another gulp of his drink. “Can we, uh, talk for a second?”

She sets her cup down and nods to herself, like she had a feeling this was coming.

“Yeah. Sure, Brad.”

He puts his drink down and motions for her to follow him to the other side of the roof, behind the shelter leading to the stairs. They can still hear the others, who are laughing at something Delany just said, but at least they’re shielded from view.

Claire’s biting her bottom lip and playing with the zipper on her jacket and Brad knows she’s working up the nerve to say something, but he barrels forward before she has a chance.

“So, listen. I, uh, wanted to give this to you earlier…”

He reaches into his pocket and takes out the small gift. The wrapping is kinda wrinkled now.

Claire blinks, like this wasn’t what she was expecting. “Oh,” she says, taking the present. “Why didn’t you?”

“What?”

“Give it to me earlier.”

“Ehhh I dunno.” Brad shifts on his feet, looking at the ground. “There were too many people around. Didn’t want it to be weird.”

“But you gave me the other gift. Why is this different?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Just… just open it, Claire.”

Brad doesn’t breathe while he watches her tear off the paper, which she stuffs in her jacket pocket, and open the box beneath it. When her gaze lands on what’s laying inside she gasps softly.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

She loops her fingers through the delicate chain and holds the necklace up in front of her. Her brow is furrowed and her eyes look a bit glossy and Brad starts to worry that he’s royally fucked up.

“Remember, from that store we walked by a few months ago? You said your grandma had one just like it, so when I drew your name for the Secret Santa I was like, hey, that would be a good gift,” Brad says, stumbling over his words.

Claire doesn’t say anything. Even in the dim light the antique charms seem to sparkle and she can’t take her eyes off them. There’s a tiny owl, a skeleton key, and an ornate rose. But the fourth charm, which is shinier than the others, is the one she can’t stop looking at: an elegant cross-section of a loaf of bread.

“It, um--” Claire starts, blinking rapidly. “It hasn’t been in the shop window for months. I went back to check.”

Brad takes a deep breath, feeling utterly deflated. It was too much, he came on too strong, and now he’s freaked her out.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal, Claire,” he says quietly.

That finally gets her to look at him, and he’s not sure what to think of it. It’s the look she gives him when he can’t do the dough-folding thing correctly or pull sugar the right way -- like he’s not getting something that is so obvious to her and she’s baffled by it.

“It is a big deal,” she whispers.

Brad’s not sure what to say to get out of this one, but he doesn’t have to worry about it for long. Because Claire carefully places the necklace back in the box, puts the box in her jacket pocket, and steps forward until there’s hardly any space between them.

She slides her hands up his chest and loops them around his neck, pulling him closer. Brad’s brain isn’t functioning on a higher level but he still knows he would give her anything in this moment, so he stoops down until he can feel her nose pressing softly into his cheek.

Somehow his hands find her waist beneath her jacket and she exhales sharply, warm breath puffing against his lips.

“Claire,” he says, crowding in closer. “I--”

And then she kisses him.

It’s the gentlest thing Brad’s ever experienced. He kisses her back just as softly, moving one hand up to cradle her face. Claire sighs against his mouth as he changes the angle of the kiss, pressing up onto her toes to get even closer. Brad’s grip on her waist tightens, bunching up the velvet fabric, and Claire runs her tongue along the seam of his mouth in response.

And all he wants to do is press her up against the wall and kiss her more deeply, like he’s been dreaming of for years, but somehow his last coherent brain cell reminds him that their coworkers are about 10 feet away and all the things he wants to do with Claire shouldn’t happen anywhere near them.

So with all the willpower he can muster, he moves back just far enough so that he can see her lips form a pout.

“Well I guess you, uh...” His voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Guess you like the gift then, huh?”

“Yeah,” she says, biting her bottom lip in a way that is completely unfair. “It’s kinda the sweetest gift I’ve ever received.”

Brad grins and loops his arms around her waist, over the coat this time. He’s so giddy it’s hard not to laugh -- he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier.

“So Claire. In keeping with the Secret Santa theme, now seems like a good time to tell you that I have another secret.”

“Oh yeah?” Claire releases her hold on his neck and slips her hands into his jacket pockets, which is something he definitely could get used to.

“Yeah. It’s kinda dumb... but I didn’t pull your name for the gift thing. I sorta traded for you, which, by the way, was much more difficult than it sounds.”

She’s beaming at him now, and Brad decides that _this_ is actually the happiest he’s ever been.

“You did not!”

“Yup. I guess I just wasn’t sure how you felt, so thought it was the safest way to, ya know, go about things.”

Claire presses her forehead to his chest and lets out a peel of laugher, which is another thing Brad could get used to.

“Brad…” she says when she leans back to look at him. “I traded for you, too.”

“What? No!”

“Yes!” Claire giggles and pulls him closer by his pockets. “With Molly. She’s been teasing me about it ever since.”

Brad gapes at her, mind reeling for the hundredth time in the last few minutes.

“Jesus, Claire. We’re a couple of dummies, huh?”

“Yeah. We kinda are.”

She grins at him and when her gaze drops to his lips, he can’t help but kiss her again.

***

When Brad and Claire finally make their way back to the other side of the roof none of their coworkers even glance in their direction. But in a weird way. Like they’re trying not to look.

Brad just shrugs, whistling nonchalantly as he and Claire make new drinks and rejoin the group. But it’s difficult to try to have a normal conversation after the monumental thing that just happened, so he’s kinda relieved when Molly and Chris pull him and Claire aside.

“We called you an Uber,” Molly tells them sternly.

Before they can reply Chris takes both of their drinks from them.

“It’ll be downstairs in two minutes,” he says. “Just go. We’ll make up an excuse for you.”

Brad glances at Claire, who looks just as bewildered as he feels. But this is a gift horse if he ever saw one, and he’s not about to look into its teeth (or whatever that expression is -- he never understood it).

“Thanks, man.” Brad claps Morocco on the shoulder. “I owe you one. Both of you.”

“Yeah you do,” Molly says. “Now please leave. There’s too much sexual tension on this roof. It’s making the booze taste bad.”

“Okay, okay,” Claire says, blushing so hard it’s adorable. “We’re leaving, alright?”

Brad puts his arm around her shoulders and guides her to the stairs, not caring if anyone sees. Claire must not mind either because she leans into his side.

***

The Uber, it turns out, is more than two minutes away. On top of that, in the 90 seconds it took them to walk downstairs, it started to snow. But Brad isn’t even a little mad, because he and Claire pass the time keeping each other warm and making out beneath a streetlight.

“Hang on,” Claire says when they finally realize the car has pulled up. “What address do you think Molly plugged in as the destination?”

Brad opens the door for her, which buys him time to make sense of her question. Because she sounds kinda breathless, and all he can think about is how he can’t wait to be alone with her.

“Who cares?” he says, climbing in after her. “Just add it to the list of secrets for the night. It’ll be an adventure, Claire!”

“Okay then.” She giggles and reaches over to take his hand, linking their fingers together. “Here’s to our first adventure.”

***

Winter used to be Brad’s least-favorite season.

He doesn’t mind it so much, anymore.


End file.
